


There's A Place (For Every Single One)

by isuilde



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Damocles Fall, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Insecurity, M/M, Timeline What Timeline, Vague Relationships, also lots of misaki thinking, like between mikoto and reishi, or between izumo and seri, which turns out confusing because misaki never thinks and misaki is an idiot anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misaki surprised himself when the realization came crashing down.</p>
<p>It wasn’t just Saruhiko who kept fighting against the memory of Suoh Mikoto for a place in Misaki’s heart.</p>
<p>He’d been constantly fighting Munakata Reishi for the best place in Saruhiko’s heart, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's A Place (For Every Single One)

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance because this might seem confusing, since it was written under the span of an hour. Thank you the ever amazing medicsglasses! This would have been peppered by mistakes if it weren’t for her, and any mistakes left would be mine eheheheh.

He wondered when it started, exactly. 

Perhaps it was when Saruhiko sleepily left their bed at four in the morning, dragging his feet to the bathroom and managing to get dressed in his full uniform when Misaki finally opened his eyes in irritation, and only got out a string of words about Munakata’s own brand of emergency getting more and more ridiculous as the year went by, slurred in a half-asleep voice before their bedroom door clicked shut behind him. 

No. It had to be before that—perhaps it was when Saruhiko had brought home twice as much paperwork as he usually had, working on it long into the night and ignoring Misaki’s advances to lure him to bed (he’d been 21, yeah, but it didn’t mean that his teenage hormones had left him completely). Saruhiko’d grumbled about superiors who wouldn’t do their work and left it to their subordinates under the excuse of injury, but Misaki heard one of the SCEPTER 4 members who came to pick Saruhiko up the next morning commenting about how it was Saruhiko’s own fault for volunteering to take over the King’s paperwork, and that had left him inexplicably annoyed. 

No. Misaki was pretty sure it began when Saruhiko had made absolutely sure that their new apartment was still within walking distance to the Blues headquarters, even as he clicked his tongue and muttered under his breath about getting more paperwork if he couldn’t show up in time for an emergency. 

No. 

It might have started before then. Long, long before the rift between he and Saruhiko was fixed, long before everything settled down. 

**——-o0o——-**  

“Thank you for your patie—geh!” He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly dropping the bowl of ramen in his hands at the sight of the customer sitting down pensively before him. For three solid seconds, he just froze completely, staring straight in disbelief, because Shizume City was fucking huge, and what the fuck was the Blue King doing in this rundown ramen stand? 

An unperturbed gaze regarded him, and Misaki instinctively took a step back. 

“Uh—“ 

“Is that,” Munakata Reishi began, “my order?” 

And for some reason the ramen stand was so fucking empty tonight. Except for the fucking Blue King, whose order had been yelled by the owner. Misaki swallowed, closed the distance between him and the counter, and carefully placed down the ramen bowl. “Here’s your… tonkatsu ramen. With scallops.” 

“It looks delicious. Itadakimasu.” 

There was the sound of wooden chopsticks being cracked into two, and Misaki couldn’t not watch the elegance in Munakata Reishi’s movement as the Blue King dug in. It wasn’t something he saw often. This sort of elegance—Misaki was more used to the elegance that burned brightly in Mikoto’s fire, the elegance in Kusanagi-san’s dangerous smiles, or Totsuka-san’s fingers as they plucked at the guitar. This elegance, born out of proper manners and politeness—it was somehow fascinating. 

“You are—“ the chopsticks stopped short on their way towards Munakata’s mouth. “—one of Suoh’s.” 

The whole situation was bewildering and confusing, and because Misaki was a simpleton, he resorted to the simplest reaction. He let his face turn into a threatening scowl, a growl escaping from his throat as he bared his teeth. His left hand was clutching the edge of the counter, knuckles white in defiance. “Got a problem with it?” 

Munakata leveled him with an even stare. For a second, Misaki thought this was it: he wasn’t a complete idiot, this person was a King, and he was a mere clansman; the difference between their powers was like heaven and earth, and Misaki was probably going to fucking die now, in a rundown ramen stand of all place, what the fuck was his life. 

Then the stare turned into something that was not unlike—amusement? “I know you.”

No shit. “Yeah, I burned one of your clansmen, too, the other day. Sent him off to the hospital well, didn’t I?” Misaki grumbled, finally having the sense to take a step back and turn around. He still had work to do. “Whatever. Enjoy your—meal, I guess, I’m not gonna make a goddamn ruckus unless I want to be fired, and I can’t fucking have that happen right now.”

“You’re the one Fushimi keeps running after.” And fuck if those words didn’t stop him in his tracks, eyes wide as his stomach bottomed out, because _what_? “What was it again, your name? Ah. Yatagarasu.”

Stiffly, Misaki turned to the Blue King. “None of your business.”

The glasses glinted under the dim light of the stand. “Indeed it isn’t. I was merely wondering, what exactly about you is it that fascinates Fushimi-kun, so much that he doesn’t seem to be motivated unless it involves you.”

“I don’t have any fucking business with a  _traitor_.” He could practically taste the venom dripping in that particular word, bitter and pained even as he feigned ignorance.

“Traitor, huh?” the corners of Munakata’s lips curved up a little. “Do you not want to know how he is doing, in my clan?”

It was that second that Misaki hated himself, because he wasn’t supposed to care whatever the fuck the Monkey was up to. He could just die, Misaki wouldn’t give a shit. And Misaki hated himself, because a part of him couldn’t ever even pretend not to care. Because a part of him still wanted to know, still wanted to be a small part of that fucking Traitor’s world, still hoping that one day, maybe one day, the dumb Monkey would come crawling back to HOMRA, and Misaki would give him hell for his betrayal, he would, he’d punch him as hard as he could. But he’d also let himself clutch on Saruhiko’s shirt and not let him go—

He swallowed hard. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“He is an eccentric piece, Fushimi-kun. It is why he is one of my favorites.”

“Your favorite?” Misaki snorted, an attempt to quell the raging fire trying to burst out of his chest. “He’s a fucking dumbass.”

“I suppose you could call him that, to an extent,” and that was such an unexpected agreement that Misaki couldn’t help but blink owlishly. Munakata had put his chopsticks down, making a bridge with his hands and hiding half of his face behind them. His eyes never left Misaki’s figure, though; intent and yet languid at the same time, like Misaki was just one of a puzzling problem he was about to solve. “He likes to be difficult, doesn’t he?”

Misaki’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck is your point?”

“I figured you might want to know how he is doing.” The Blue King made a tiny gesture that looked suspiciously like a shrug. “It is my understanding that the two of you used to be very close—back when he was still under Suoh.”

“And I’m telling you that I don’t give a fuck,” Misaki grated out. “Why the hell would I care about a goddamn traitor anyway? He never said a thing, not a fucking thing, and then he betrayed  _me_ —betrayed all of us, and you think I’d still give a shit about whatever the fuck he’s doing now?”

“I often tell myself the same thing, regarding Suoh.”

“What?” Misaki backpedaled, because  _huh_ , he must have heard wrong. “You—what?”

“It doesn’t change the fact that he is also one of the Kings,” Munakata mused, eyes cast down to the still untouched ramen bowl. “And therefore it is inevitable we would be drawn to each other. The same also applies to you and Fushimi-kun, I suppose, but it also doesn’t mean it is best for Fushimi-kun to be so fixated on you. I suppose it is a good thing he turned to my clan, then.”

Misaki frowned, completely lost. “What the hell are you on about—“

“Do you suppose I should do something to sever the ties he still has left with you?”

“Wha—“ Misaki froze, feeling like his heart had stopped for a second, leaving his whole existence cold all over. Munakata raised his gaze to meet his, and the inexplicable fear gripped Misaki tight—it was familiar, Misaki thought, not unlike Mikoto-san: it was the presence of a King, a sense of unfathomable, raw power he didn’t have a chance to stand against.

The small smile that curled up Munakata’s smile sent shivers down Misaki’s spine. “He is, after all, my  _favorite_.”

It was that word that snapped Misaki back into reality, reigniting the flames inside his chest, fueling anger and irritation so fast Misaki was dizzy for a second. His hand itched for his skateboard, stored at the back of the ramen stand, even if he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. But he glared nonetheless, letting the familiar red aura blanket him like a fortress.

“Don’t you dare.” He grated out.

The Blue King held his gaze for a moment, unruffled against the threatening red aura, before he closed his eyes. “I see,” he said, almost thoughtfully, even as he reached for his abandoned chopsticks. “I suppose I could see why Fushimi-kun is so fixated on you.” He caught Misaki’s eyes again. “I do suggest you do better, Yatagarasu.”

What the fuck, Misaki wanted to say, but it was hard to keep exuding your aura when your opponent was turning his focus to the previously abandoned ramen bowl. Pushing back the confusion tickling the back of his mind, Misaki stepped back, glaring at the now contentedly eating Blue King, before turning around to stalk away.

Munakata was faster, though. “This tonkatsu ramen is exceptional. I should bring Fushimi-kun along the next time I drop by, would you like that?”

He was quitting tomorrow, Misaki decided. There were other part-time jobs that didn’t require him to deal with this kind of shit.

**——-o0o——-**

Misaki surprised himself when the realization came crashing down.

It wasn’t just Saruhiko who kept fighting against the memory of Suoh Mikoto for a place in Misaki’s heart.

He’d been constantly fighting Munakata Reishi for the best place in Saruhiko’s heart, too.

**——-o0o——-**

"Saruhiko-kun seems to be doing well,” was Totsuka-san’s comment the first time they clashed with the Blues after Saruhiko’s betrayal. It had been an offhand comment made to Kusanagi-san, because Misaki was too busy sulking in the corner for getting blasted  in the face in the beginning of the fight by none other than Awashima Seri. Kusanagi-san had taken a look at him and laughed like Misaki was the stupidest person on earth.

It was Misaki, however, who first snarled out at the comment. “Should’ve burnt him to nothing, when I got my hands on him just now.”

Totsuka-san turned him an amused look and ignored him altogether, what the hell. “Looks like being in the Blues does him a lot of good. Right, Kusanagi-san?”

Misaki growled, shoved Kamamoto, who was still fussing over his wound, away, and stalked out of the bar.

He didn’t see Totsuka’s wistful smile, or the way he exchanged glances with Kusanagi, the unspoken  _I wonder if Yata would understand, one day_ hanging between the two of them.

**——-o0o——-**

He was an idiot, though, Misaki knew that much. It was probably why he couldn’t understand Saruhiko well—not that Saruhiko was helping any, the way he never told Misaki anything.

Even now, standing in the outskirt of the last battle of the Kings, watching in awe as five Swords of Damocles hung far before their heads, with Saruhiko standing not even two meters to his right, Misaki didn’t think he’d understood much.

But maybe, finally, he’d understood enough.

In the midst of clashing colors, Misaki caught the blue Sword of Damocles slowly crumbling, heard the way Awashima Seri’s voice turned shrill as she tried to twist her way out of Kusanagi’s restraining arms, shrieking at someone they call Zenjou-san, and for a second Misaki remembered a time when his HOMRA mark burnt against his skin, one last call from Mikoto-san, one last goodbye, and—

He reached out and grabbed Saruhiko’s coat, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, because it had been Saruhiko who kept him from running after Mikoto-san back then, and now it had to be him who kept Saruhiko from going after his own King. He pulled and pulled, until Saruhiko stumbled back with a bewildered look in his face, but there was uncertainty and the slightest edge of panic in his eyes.

Misaki knew how it felt. He remembered it—the moment when Mikoto-san was lost for good, and he couldn’t do anything.

“No,” Misaki gasped; and he wanted to bash Saruhiko in the head, because they were together now, they had their own home where they lived and slept and lazed the day away together, and he wouldn’t let Saruhiko throw all of those away for the Blue King. “No.”

“Misaki—“

“Look at me,” Misaki snarled out even as he faintly heard Kusanagi-san shouting down Awashima. “Fucking look at me, you dumbass Monkey. I am not letting you go. Not again.” And he pulled at Saruhiko’s lapel, dragging him down and crushing their lips together, stealing everything that made Saruhiko as he was and swallowed it all.

The blue Sword of Damocles faded into little blue dots, raining down on them like fireflies. Saruhiko shook hard, his feet giving out under him, and there was Awashima’s painful scream that sounded much like Anna when Mikoto was finally gone. Misaki staggered under Saruhiko’s weight, but Saruhiko clutched him close, shaking and breathing hard, and Misaki held on.

The sky was awash with blue light.

The Blues might have done Saruhiko good, Misaki thought, as he remembered Mikoto-san and Totsuka-san and the golden days long past in the HOMRA bar. Munakata was a King, the way Mikoto was, and he might hold a place in Saruhiko’s world that Misaki could never fill, just as Mikoto did in Misaki’s, but as he closed his eyes and watched the blinding blue flashes behind his eyelids, there was only one thing he knew for sure.

He wasn’t about to let Saruhiko go again.

**——-o0ofinitoo0o——-**

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been rereading lots of [K] side stories/novel/translations lately, and decided to play around with the possible bonds between the Kings and their clansmen, and how I think it played out between Saruhiko and Misaki. Munakata and Saruhiko’s relationship intrigues me, in particular, because since the very beginning I think the Blues was the right place for Saruhiko to be (it does good to him, being there), and no matter how reluctant Saruhiko seems to be in doing stuff for the Blues, he still does them and sometimes even shows some initiative himself. In a way, I think Saruhiko’s found his place, the way Misaki has HOMRA, and this is my attempt to work that fact into their relationship. It turned out sucky, but then again, so are my other fics so.


End file.
